I’ve finally figured out who really controls the world…
It’s customer service representatives.
I had to call Direct TV with some issue that, due to
‘scheduled site maintenance’, I was sadly not able to address online. After
listening to what felt like an endless list of prompts, none of which addressed my
needs, I opted not to press any
buttons and patiently wait for an operator. Somehow, my ‘no-prompt’ prompt
didn’t register however, and I was treated to a repeat of the original prompts,
preceded with an automated alto-voiced female asking me “Are you still there?”
Had I not been frustrated, and impatient at this point, I’m sure I would have
laughed out loud. Does the computer care if I’m still there? Who came up with
that lame attempt at personalizing the machine? Did they throw that one in for
people who lose interest and doze off while the recordings drone on and on?
Anyhow, after listening one more time to the
original list of options, and confirming that none fit my concerns, I aggressively
ripped the phone from my ear and with the palm of my hand, began repeatedly pressing
all keys at once, ending with a series of over-exaggerated 0’s - since that
used to mean ‘Operator’ in the good ol’ days. It worked. After only 8 additional
minutes, I had received the “One moment please” acknowledgment and so with
renewed hope, I listened excitedly for a real person to address me. My spirits
were crushed though when that same uncompassionate and annoying computer lady
came on and asked me to enter the number I was calling about, the last four
digits of my social security number and my zip code. Jesus! Was I calling
Iran? Pulling the phone from my ear once more, I systematically entered all
the numbers uber-carefully to make
sure I wouldn’t have to duplicate the request. “Thank you” I heard, and the
Direct TV advertisements started blasting in my ear….for another 13 minutes…. in
their attempt to brainwash me (since I’d already been beaten down) and lure me into
signing up for ‘The Bullfighting Channel” or something. I think I pulled out a
clump of hair.
Suddenly, just as I was fading in and out of
consciousness, and starting to believe that I needed that bullfighting package, I heard
“Hello. My
name is Lena. For verification purposes, can I have the phone number you are
calling about with the area code first, please?”
“Didn’t I
already press those numbers into the phone?” I ask accusingly.
“I’m sorry.”
She says in a completely rehearsed and non-emotional manner, “Our system didn’t register the number.
Please give me the number, area code first.”
UGGH! I gave her the number.
“Thank you.
May I ask who I’m speaking with?” Lena says.
“I don’t know
any more!” I wanted to scream. “I’ve
been on this phone for 24 minutes and I’ve accomplished nothing!”
“Thank you.”
She drones, strangely computer-like after I give her what she wants, and then
continues to ask me things for ‘security purposes’; like the other name on the
account, the last four digits of my social security number (again), my mother’s
maiden name, my date of birth, and my husbands date of birth. For god’s sake! What else did she want to know? How
many teeth I’ve had pulled and if I have all my toes? What in the world is
Direct TV worried about…that someone might call up pretending to be me and
cancel my hockey package, god forbid?
So I started thinking that all these places that
have telephone customer service people, must be like little sub-stations for
the leaders of our Universe. Branches of the big office in the sky…..helpers
for the Omniscient… These people who know answers to all our personal
questions….are like deity elves…with a phone and a computer. They know where
we live, our social security number, our age, our telephone numbers, and the
answer to secret questions like ‘What’s your favorite food?’ or ‘What’s the
name of your first pet?’ They know whether we pay our bills on time, what our
credit card and bank numbers are, and probably even what political affiliations
we have. Does my photo come up with my profile too?
I’ve never met these people, they could be in Iowa
or Bangladesh for all I know, but they know a lot about me….and that makes me a
little uneasy. It’s a one-sided relationship with the customer service
supremacy having access to things that my closest friends don’t have even have
the privilege of knowing. I’m waiting for the time I get a rep named “Allah”
or “Emmanuel”…..
I imagine them enjoying their advantaged status
while sitting around playing with their big eye
in the sky screens. They most likely look up their neighbor’s account,
keep an eye on that peculiar dental assistant, and I’m sure they must play
special customer service games too. I can see it….a competition based on
analyzing people’s personal information and preferences; something akin to a
treasure hunt…like who can find the most bizarre profile:
“Hey Sally!
I’ve got a 72 year-old guy who lives in Connecticut who flips between ‘The
Playboy Channel’ and the ‘Curling Channel’ for 5 hours a night! He’s also a
member of the Masons and he just had his chest waxed. Top that!”
Maybe if I could at least see those junior-demi-gods-in-training I’d feel a little more
comfortable. I often try to visualize what the voice at the other end looks like.
What’s their culture, hair color, age? Are they in sweat pants? A suit? In
drag? I think that if I could just have a crumb of information, I’d feel a
little more at ease divulging personal information. Maybe I’d even be more
polite….because usually by the time I get to the crux of my call, I’m so aggravated
and discouraged that I sound like an impatient and unpleasant curmudgeon. Maybe
if I knew a little more about Lena, I’d actually be cheery and friendly when -
trying to fill dead air during her computer slump - she asks what the weather
is generally like in Jackson Hole. Instead, I barely grunt, ‘It’s fine’, and
ask what the hell is taking her so long. She, of all people, should know that
I’m in a rush because my kids are getting off the bus at any moment and I have
to rush to a doctor’s appointment. Isn’t that on her screen? No time for
small talk, Lena. Let’s get the show on the road.
And to top of their all-knowing features, those mysterious
go-betweens have supreme powers too. At any moment they feel the urge, they
can simply press a button to add, alter or delete any part of your profile, which
would ultimately render you helpless and lost in your current situation. Talk
about control. Just picking up a phone to make a call like this means you
must be ready to check your freedom and independence at the door. You are powerless
and totally at their mercy, because even if Lena is a total numbskull, you have
to maintain your patience and politeness to ensure she doesn’t put you on perma-hold,
hang up on you, or purposefully screw up your preferences and features you’ve
spent so much time organizing.
And what if Lena and her coworkers are in just as
foul of a mood as you are? Then you really have to abandon all authority…..because
now you have to acquiesce to a anesthetized and discourteous voice that you
know is just waiting for an opportunity to attack and assault
someone…anyone….even a lowly housewife in Wyoming. Asking for a supervisor in
this case would be just plain ol’ dumb. Identity suicide. “Oops. Seems that everything has been
deleted. You don’t exist. Thank you for calling Direct TV.” Click.
So, what did I do? I suspended my hostile and hard
lining approach and, digging my nails into my leg, I pretended to delight in my
encounter with Queen Lena. She couldn’t tell that under that friendly façade
lived a person who resembled the figure in Munch’s “The Scream”. After all, my life(time channel) was in her hands.
She could cut off my head(line news) at any moment. Worse yet, the unpredictable
and potentially reckless service rep could have forced an unnecessary service call….which would leave me struggling to
deal with some incompetent former arcade attendant, who smells like cigarettes,
burned coffee and asparagus pee….
But that’s a whole other story…..
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